Two assistants in crisp gray uniforms strode forward. One bowed slightly as he presented Leah her pistols (sleek, matte-black, almost weightless until she closed her fingers and felt the latent thrum of power). The other offered Elaine hers with the same reverence. Elaine accepted them without looking, sliding them into her holsters in one fluid motion, as natural as breathing.
The assistants retreated. Only three meters now separated the competitors.
Leah rolled her shoulders, cracked her neck, and flashed a wolfish grin. "Try not to cry when you lose, Princess."
Elaine's lips barely moved. "I don't cry. I collect."
Dr. Gearne's smile sharpened to something almost feral. He raised one hand high, paused just long enough for the arena to hold its collective breath, then slashed it downward.
"Begin!"
With a burst of terrifying speed, Leah dashed forward. The air crackled around her as she unleashed a flurry of shots, circling constantly. The movement was a blurred orbit around her target, a dangerous, whirling dance of aggression.
Elaine didn't flinch, as the Mecha boosted directly into the storm of gunfire.
Wam! Ping! Clang!
The Mecha, a marvel of defensive engineering, dodged and deflected the majority of the incoming rounds. The maneuver—a brutal, high-speed charge straight through an ambush—was not just shocking to the spectators; it drastically and unnervingly reduced the space between them in seconds. The bullets that did land merely left little dents on the Mecha's heavy plating, like trying to stab steel with a screwdriver.
Elaine closed the distance with predatory efficiency. When she was close enough, the Mecha executed two dizzying spins mid-air, a move of surprising grace for its size, coiling power for a brutal and decisive strike. The leg was poised to deliver a devastating kick.
But Leah was faster.
With a powerful grunt of effort, she sidestepped the incoming blow, her body a whip of concentrated force. She didn't only rely on her guns; instead, her armored fist shot out like a piston, connecting with the Mecha's chassis with a sickening CRUNCH.
The impact was beyond anything the Mecha's defenses had anticipated. Leah's fist felt as if it had almost broken through the armored shell. The Mecha shrieked, its engines momentarily sputtering, and was sent hurtling backward through the air—Elaine's control momentarily lost to the sheer concussive force.
Elaine struggled to stabilize, looking up with a gasp of shock and disbelief plastered on her face. Leah, her expression a mask of ruthless concentration, was already charging toward her, a dark silhouette against the lights.
Hmm! Elaine thought, feeling a sudden sense of tiredness.
She snapped out her twin pistols and immediately emptied the clips toward the charging figure.
Leah met the challenge without slowing. With a speed that defied the bullets' trajectory, she deployed a reinforced metallic bar, rolling it fiercely in front of her. The bar became a whirling shield, a terrifying arc of motion that deflected the incoming rounds with a shower of sparks and metallic pings.
From the heights of a high balcony, a fair-haired soldier leaned against the marble railing, his eye pressed to the lens of a short, but powerful telescope. A slow, amused smile spread across his face as he observed the distant chaos. "Hmm," he murmured, the sound rich with satisfaction. "Two vicious ladies locked in combat. There hasn't been a spectacle this fine since this year."
The words had barely left his lips when a sharp tap struck the back of his head. He flinched, his eye leaving the telescope with a wince.
"You ungrateful pig," chided a clear voice. Beside him stood a woman with hair the colour of summer moss, her hands now planted on her hips. "Your birthday celebration ended just a few hours ago. Or has the cake already rotted your memory?"
"Ouch," he grumbled, though his grin remained undimmed.
Elaine's lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile as she poured every ounce of remaining reactor energy into the right index finger of the mecha. Veld-1K. The armored digit glowed white-hot, a miniature star trapped in alloy.
She squeezed the trigger.
A single round—tungsten-cored, plasma-sheathed—roared out of the rail-cannon barrel. The air itself screamed, ripping apart in a conical shockwave.
Leah's eyes flashed with wicked delight. Her gloved thumb slammed a recessed stud on the collapsible baton at her hip. With a metallic shriek, the weapon telescoped in both directions, She planted her feet, twisted her hips, and swung the spear, as it met the bullet in a cataclysmic clap of thunder. Sparks exploded outward like a newborn galaxy. The round ricocheted skyward, vanishing into the storm. Immediately, while Leah spun the spear once, twice, muscles coiling—then hurled it with every gram of augmented strength her frame could muster.
The spear became a silver comet, dragging its own howling pressure wave, tearing up asphalt as it went.
Elaine was already moving.
Veld's thrusters flared blue. The mecha flipped backward in a perfect arc, servos singing. Mid-flip, Elaine's left hand snapped out. She caught the spear by its shaft, the impact rattling every plate on the frame, boots carving twin furrows as she landed in a low crouch.
She looked up—grin feral, hair whipping in the wind—and saw it.
A fist-sized orb of matte black, red light blinking in lazy rhythm, hovering exactly where her head had been half a second earlier.
Leah leaned against a broken antenna, arms folded, tongue clicking in mock pity.
"Ka…"
The grenade's light turned solid crimson.
"…Boom."
Elaine's golden eyes widened for the first time all night.